Breathe
by journie19
Summary: A collection of Claire/Owen one-shots! Requests and prompts by you guys are extremely encouraged.
1. Favor

_AN: I know I've already published this separately, but I want to get a little one-shot series together and I'm gathering all the ones (one-shots only- Survival and Outlast are not included) I've previously published and putting them together in this compilation. A new one called Undone will hopefully be added to this sometime tomorrow!_

 _Summary: Claire couldn't stop herself. She had to see him._

Claire debated it for a while. Yes, or no? Should she ask him, should she not?

But after trying for a week to tell herself she didn't need him, she finally relented, driving to his little house beside the lake as soon as she got off work.

Claire knew he wanted to see her, but she'd been avoiding him ever since they said they would stick together. Claire wanted to see him, talk to him, get to know him.

Love him.

Problem was, she didn't know how. It had been so long since she'd let anyone in, past the hardened career-woman exterior. Owen, however, had broken through her boundaries so easily that Claire almost couldn't believe it. He could be so _good_ for her. If Claire would let him in.

She could be good for him, too. They were like magnets, pulling towards each other unconsciously, strongest when they were together.

Claire pulled her sleek, silver Mercedes beside his house and stepped down, ignoring how her heels sunk into the ground. Claire didn't feel nervous in the slightest; Owen didn't make her anxious, like some other men she'd been involved with did. Owen calmed her down, pulled her out of the over-organized prison she sometimes locked herself in.

The sun was setting, its golden rays reflecting off the lake and shining into Claire's eyes. _Beautiful_ , she thought. Claire sometimes forgot to observe the world around her, forgot to see what a beautiful earth God had created.

Owen's motorcycle was leaning up against his porch, the paint scratched and splattered with mud. He hadn't cleaned it off yet.

That was Claire's clue. Owen wasn't okay. He was suffering just like she was, the dreams and the flashbacks and the awful, terrible guilt that this whole crisis could've been averted if she'd focused on something other than money and stockholders for just once in her career.

And Claire hadn't let herself comfort and be comforted by Owen. She'd avoided him for a week, every single day since the Indominus Rex caused pandemonium across Jurassic World. She'd gone to church the day after the chaos, something Claire hadn't done in years. She'd felt…free afterwards. Like she didn't have to worry about her park. Everything was already taken care of.

Claire's week alone had taught her something. She was strong on her own. She could handle grief. But she needed Owen so badly that she couldn't stand it anymore, and Claire hated herself for taking a week to realize it.

So she knocked on his door and he opened it in an instant, wearing the same white shirt he'd worn the last time she'd come to his house, to get his assessment on Paddock Eleven. He looked about as bad as she did, dark circles under his eyes and a hollow, tired look about his face.

"Finally," he said, pulling her in gently and shutting the door behind her. Claire felt her pulse quicken from nothing else than him touching her, his hand rough against her smooth skin.

"I need you," she said, her voice breaking. He took a step towards her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her in a way she hadn't been held in years. It dawned on Claire that for once, she didn't have to be strong. She and Owen been through hell and there was no point hiding it anymore.

"I know," he murmured, his breath warm against her neck. "I need you, too. Why did you wait so long? I've been here all week, Claire. Waiting."

Claire shrugged her shoulders, pressing her face firmly against his chest. She knew he could feel her trembling, could feel the salty tears leaking from her eyes against his shirt, but he was shaking just as badly as she was, his voice a rough whisper that rumbled deep in his chest. They were both hurting, both craving some sort of physical touch to ease their pain.

"Owen?" Claire asked, her voice muffled. He was stroking her hair softly with one hand, the other splayed across her lower back. "If I asked you a favor, would you do it?"

"Yes," he answered quietly, "I would. But Claire?"

Claire tilted her head up to look at him, her light green eyes meeting his. She saw pain there, and fear. But there was something else, something deeper and more powerful that was mirrored in her own gaze.

Love. Tentative, unsure, but love all the same.

"When I do what I'm about to do," he began, "know that I'm not using you. I care about you. I _care_ about you. I just-"

" _Need_ ," said Claire, interrupting him. "I know. That was the favor I was going to ask."

Owen blinked once, a shadow of a smile crossing his face as they reached a silent understanding before Claire gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to capture his lips with hers.

It was slow, gentle, _sweet_ at first. Owen's lips meshed with hers, his hands roaming her body, tugging at the ends of her hair, brushing her cheekbones, trailing along her spine. Claire explored him, too, feeling the muscles of his back tense under her touch, the rough scratch of his stubble against her chin, the faint flutter of his eyelashes against hers.

Eventually the kiss became less innocent and more desperate, like when they had kissed in the park with hundreds of pterosaurs flying around them. Owen tightened his arms around Claire, pressing her to his door, trapping her hard against him. She twisted her fingers in his hair, pulling gently, squirming when his low groan of approval reached her ears. She could barely breath when his tongue traced the outline of her lips, silently pleading for entrance. Claire let him in gladly, shuddering when he slipped his hand under the waistband of her skirt, gripping her hips, steadying her. Claire grasped at his shirt, wanting it out of the way, needing to feel his bare skin.

He broke away, covering her jawline in tiny kisses, grunting softly when Claire threw his shirt to the ground, enjoying the feel of his hard muscle under her hands.

 _So different_ , Claire thought, a sound breaking from her throat when he felt his hands trail up her side, stopping just below her ribcage, massaging her lightly with his thumbs. Owen was touching her, holding her like she really mattered. For the first time in her life she was kissing a man for something other than pleasure, something more than satisfaction; she cared about Owen, and it was amazing.

Owen sucked at a spot just above Claire's collarbone, just on the sensitive part of her neck, and she gasped his name in a strangled whisper before she could stop herself, clutching desperately at his back, wanting more, wanting him to keep going.

She felt him pause, felt the cool touch of his teeth against her warm, flushed skin.

"I love you, you know," he said, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Claire leaned into him, closing her eyes at the contact. Tender, sweet, but powerful and strong. Rugged. _Owen_. She hadn't flinched at his confession, like she had in the past when previous men told her they loved her. Owen was different. She was different. _They_ were different. "Always have."

She exhaled, trying to calm her wildly beating heart, pulling Owen's face up to hers so she could meet his eyes. His scent washed over her, smelling of mint and something else that Claire couldn't describe. "I'm not good at this," she breathed, pressing her forehead to his. Owen nudged her head to the side, brushing his lips across the spot he'd been sucking at earlier. Claire shivered and it reverberated through Owen, both of them groaning quietly. "I'm not good at love."

"You don't have to be," said Owen. "I know I'm not."

Claire laughed, a bit breathless.. "I love you too, Owen. I don't have to try with you. It just…works." The words flew out of her mouth easily, and she didn't regret speaking them.

Owen exhaled against her neck, swiping his tongue across the shell of Claire's ear. "Good," he said roughly, smashing his lips to hers, kissing Claire in the way she so desperately needed, all teeth and tongue and reckless abandon.

Maybe Claire had shown up at Owen's house to ask him for a favor. To ask him to hold her, kiss her. Maybe she knew she loved him when she pulled in his driveway, maybe she didn't. Either way, they loved each other and he was kissing her and she was kissing him and Claire wasn't sure if she could stop herself, wasn't sure if Owen could stop himself.

They did stop eventually, both with wild hair and flushed cheeks. "Love," Claire whispered.

Owen nodded, cupping her face with both hands. "Love."

 _AN: I hope this wasn't cheesy, but I just couldn't help myself. There's just something so indescribably good about those two together, and I really wanted to do a one-shot to get my romance writings out of me because there's a bunch of action in Outlast before we get to the kissing! Anyways, I love you all and please review!_

 _If you have any requests for future one-shots (or even two-shots), leave them in the reviews and I will try my best to write about them and add them to this!_


	2. Sanity

_AN: My take on Owen and Claire's first "date". I highly recommend listening to "Losing My Religion (REM) as you read this; that's what inspired this story, and of course I listened to it on repeat the entire time I was writing this little one-shot._

 _Summary: Who said their first date was a "date?"_

Claire felt like she was losing hold of herself; the fabric that made up who she was seemed to be unraveling, leaving her a confused, tired mess.

Why did she do this? Why did she want a job like this one? A job that took over her life, dictated her every decision? She could just as easily have been a teacher or a nurse or anything else in the world.

But she knew she was _meant_ to run Jurassic World; she felt so right at the park, like God had always intended for her to work there (and Claire supposed he _had_ intended it). It was just hard sometimes, especially when it felt like everyone was against her; most of her colleagues hated her; none of them understood that all she was trying to do was make Jurassic World a successful theme park.

And now she had another issue to deal with. Apparently the guy that was supposed to be working with the velociraptors had found some problems with the paddock. According to him, it wasn't "secure enough". He was afraid his precious little man-eaters would escape, and Claire had to take time out of her day off to deal with him. Or, rather, her night off. She had told Mr. Grady (Claire couldn't remember his first name to save her life) over the phone that the only time she could meet with him was at 9:30 PM, told him that her schedule was too busy for any other time.

Okay, so maybe there _was_ a reason all her coworkers despised her, but Claire couldn't help it. She did things her way, no questions asked.

She'd never seen Mr. Grady before, she'd only heard about him from Mr. Masrani and Zara, the latter describing him as the definition of "chiseled". Claire had rolled her eyes at Zara's description; sometimes her assistant was too sex-crazy for her own good.

When Claire pulled up to the raptor paddock at precisely 9:30, she expected him to be there, waiting on her. She didn't know exactly what to look for; Zara hadn't given her any specifics about his looks, so Claire wandered around the outskirts of the paddock, struggling silently through the gravel; heels weren't the best footwear for loose ground.

"You know, it might be easier to try walking without those shoes," said a voice from somewhere behind Claire, low and steady; it was a voice that demanded attention.

Claire whirled around, her hands flying to her hips, her balance thrown off slightly by the uneven ground beneath her. She could see his frame outlined by the starlight, tall and broad-shouldered. "You're late," Claire said, using her best "I'm-the-boss" voice. She slipped the small itinerary she had made for this small meeting out of her purse; it was a color-coded list of items to discuss, ordered from most important to least important. "Do you have somewhere we can talk?"

Mr. Grady gestured to the building on the edge of the paddock; it was a dull grey building made entirely of steel, presumably to protect its inhabitants from the raptors on the other side of the gate. He held out a hand to assist her over the rocks but Claire wordlessly pushed it away. She didn't need his help. He needed hers; he couldn't get anything he wanted without her.

But some small part of Claire wanted to accept his hand, wanted to let herself be helped because she was beginning to fear she couldn't do this job without help. She couldn't always run everything, she didn't always have the answer to the problems, and things were beginning to slip away. She was losing control.

Mr. Grady withdrew his hand with a shrug, saying something under his breath that Claire couldn't hear. He pushed open the heavy door of the building, flipping on the lights as he led Claire into a room that she supposed was his office. There were maps and notes scattered all over the desk that was shoved in the corner, and brightly colored flags and even a few deflated soccer balls littered the floor. Claire had the overwhelming desire to clean the place up, make it look more official and less like a child's playroom. Her eyes flitted over to Mr. Grady, who was facing away from her, fiddling with an old tape player on one of the crooked shelves nailed to the wall.

"Zara was right," Claire muttered to herself, eyeing his taught backside. His pants left little to the imagination that the white V-neck he wore conformed to him in just the right way, showing off the body he clearly worked hard to maintain. "Chiseled." The tape player clicked and Mr. Grady made a soft noise of triumph when a song that sounded suspiciously like _Losing My Religion_ started to play.

Claire rolled her eyes (of _course_ he had a tape player) just as Mr. Grady turned around. She felt her face flush as red as her hair when he quirked an eyebrow at her, running his eyes over her with a strange look that Claire couldn't read; she was too busy marveling at how he was just as beautiful from the front as he was from the back. Strong, powerful, but she could see a gentleness about him that didn't quite fit but was there nonetheless.

No wonder InGen had hired him to work with the raptors. He could probably make them submit to him without even trying.

"Drink?" he asked, holding up a bottle of tequila.

Claire wrinkled her nose. "No, thanks. On a diet."

Mr. Grady exhaled sharply and glanced at her again, his eyes lingering on hers, green against green. "If you say so." He poured himself a shot and swallowed in in one gulp, throwing his head back to reveal a sun-tanned neck that Claire suddenly couldn't keep her eyes off of.

"So, Mr. Grady-" Claire began, holding up her itinerary.

"Owen," he interrupted, taking another shot before pushing the bottle of tequila away. He held out a dirt-streaked hand to Claire's perfectly manicured one. The shook, and Claire couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine when he touched her. He looked at her again with that strange glint in his eye, like he was trying to tell her something without words and she couldn't understand.

"Claire," she said, breaking the handshake even though she didn't really want to. He took the itinerary out of her hand, reading it quickly before grinning wolfishly.

"They weren't kidding when they said you were a control freak," he said, handing the paper back to her. "We're supposed to take about the weak spots in the cage first, from 9:30 to 9:45, and then we get to discuss individual housing units for my raptors. This'll be fun."

Claire glared at him, not sure if he was being sarcastic or serious. She decided a little of both as the tape player moved to the chorus; Claire hadn't heard this song in ages. It brought back memories of high school and fights with her sister, who had always been the tamer one of the two of them.

"I'm afraid we're a bit behind schedule," said Owen, turning his wrist over to check his watch, "but I think we'll be okay."

"I didn't come here so you could make fun of me, _Mr. Grady_ ," said Claire angrily, crossing her arms. "You have a problem, and I'm here to help."

"I know," he said, his eyes softening. "I know what people say about you, you know."

"I know," said Claire. "You've already pointed out that I'm a control-freak. Anything else you want to remind me of? Any other corporate gossip you want to share?" She didn't mean to get so worked up, but she needed to vent and Owen just so happened to get caught in the crossfire.

"I never said being a control-freak was a _bad_ thing," said Owen, who reached out and smoothly took her hand, pulling her out of the office despite her protests. He led her up some rickety metal stairs, heading for the observation catwalk that had been built shortly before he had been hired. It ran the expanse of the raptor paddock, providing a good view of the containment unit below.

"What are you doing?" asked Claire, who had given up trying to pry away his hand from hers. And anyways, it was nice, being touched by someone who wasn't a family member or a handsy stockholder she had to tolerate.

"Look," he said, unlocking the small gate that led onto the catwalk. "I don't know you, or what you like, but, well, just watch." He stopped them in the middle of the catwalk, his face splitting into a smile when he saw the four dinosaurs curled up asleep below them. "You ready?" he asked, squeezing her hand gently.

Claire didn't recoil at the gesture like she expected herself to; rather, she leaned into him, ignoring the snide voice in her head that told her to run, told her she wasn't good enough or pretty enough or _whatever_ enough to do…this. Owen's breath hitched when she nestled into him, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he wrapped a strong arm around her, pulling her against him like they'd done it a million times before. "Ready," she said, inhaling his musky, slightly sweaty scent.

He whistled sharply and the raptors stirred, rising up one at a time to stare at Owen in the silver moonlight. One of them stepped forward; blue streaks ran the length of its body and Claire assumed it was the leader, judging by how the other three raptors moved into position behind it. It looked up at Owen, its head tilted. Claire gasped quietly when she realized it was waiting for an order, waiting on Owen to make the first move.

"Tag," Owen said, his tone sharp but gentle. "Delta is It. Play easy, Blue. No fights this time."

The raptors screeched and turned to each other as one sprinted away into the woods; Claire figured this was a regular training exercise Owen used with them to help them form good sibling bonds.

"They're just starting to master this one," he said proudly, watching his animals frolic in the grass below. "They're just getting to the point where they trust each other to find the target."

"And they have to restrain themselves because they aren't hunting for the kill," said Claire in awe, understanding immediately the benefits of this exercise.

"Exactly," said Owen, tightening his arm around her.

"Why'd you show me this?" Claire murmured, turning to face him. She felt her heart beating fast and knew he could feel it too.

"I figured you needed to see control doesn't matter," said Owen, clasping his hands behind her. Claire was surrounded by him, enveloped in his arms, and she wasn't overly surprised to find that it didn't bother her; it felt… _good_. "These raptors listen to me because they trust me. I don't always know how to make them listen, Claire, but I keep working at it until they obey. Don't worry so much about everyone else; maybe they're against you, but I'm not, if that means anything at all to you. Just…let go."

"Let go," Claire repeated. His eyes met hers with that look again and Claire knew he could see straight through her and maybe she could she through him too, could see the quietly passionate person behind the rugged exterior.

She wasn't sure who leaned in first but suddenly they were kissing and Owen was groaning into her mouth as he pressed her against the railing, one hand tilting her head closer to his and the other pressing lightly at her lower back.

Claire twisted her fingers in his hair, his stubble scraping against her face in the best sort of way as her tongue tangled with his. She felt as if her entire body was channeling an electric current, connecting her to Owen, locking them together and she never wanted them to break apart.

Claire didn't even know him, but she trusted him. She had no idea what would happen with them next, but for tonight, Owen Grady had helped her hold onto her sanity and for that, she was grateful.

And good grief, he could kiss.

 _AN: Wrote this entire thing on my phone in about two hours because it just hit me and I love writing Claire/Owen oneshots. I suppose this could be connected to both Survival and Outlast, but it doesn't have to be if you don't want it to be!_

 _Review!_


	3. Undone

_AN: Sliiiiiightly more risqué than the previous two stories, but not explicit by any means. (Written to "Becoming One of "the people"/Becoming One with Neytiri off of the Avatar soundtrack)_

 _Summary: What would Owen be like when he came undone?_

...

Claire wanted to see him come undone. She didn't know what it was about Owen; maybe it was his quiet strength, or the fact that he was a leader without meaning to be, or that he always seemed to be holding back part of himself, just a little, but she thought about it constantly. What would he be like when he was most vulnerable? What would _she_ be like with him?

She'd been locked in those thoughts for weeks now, trapped in a perpetual state of lust and need and she wasn't quite sure what to do about it other than tell Owen, but Claire had never been good at communicating her emotions. And now she had a wedding band on her finger and Owen had a matching one on his and she was about to figure out exactly what Owen was like in the bedroom whether she wanted to or not.

Claire wanted to know -really, _really_ wanted to- but it had been so long since she'd been with someone and she'd never had a relationship like the one she shared with Owen: natural, loving, and _right_.

She glanced over at him; he was driving them to a hotel somewhere, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on her thigh, circling his fingers gently against the soft cotton of her dress. They'd snuck away to the courthouse after work, hadn't given any warnings to anybody, and gotten married in a ceremony that took about ten minutes. Quick, efficient, and to the point, just like Claire wanted. Of course, she'd have to deal with telling her family and coworkers later, but for now it was just her and Owen and Claire was so happy to be alone with him with nothing to worry about but sex. (And really, why would she worry about it? He was _Owen_.)

"What are you thinking about?" Owen asked, turning to face her when they had to stop at a traffic light. He was wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks, his muscles not hidden in the slightest by the thin fabric. Claire managed to draw her eyes away from his arms to meet his eyes, thankful to see a bit of her own nervous energy reflected in them.

"You," she said, her voice a quiet whisper. She laced her fingers with his and the light turned green; Owen glanced at the light in mild annoyance for tearing his attention away from Claire. "I'm just...it's-" she gestured to the wedding bands. "Big."

Owen laughed softly. "Yeah," he said, squeezing her hand. "You're stuck with me now, Claire."

"Board shorts and all," she joked, letting some of the tension inside her float away.

"You learned to love them," he said, flipping a piece of hair behind her ear. "And anyways, you can't tease me about my swimwear when you walk around in spandex when you think nobody's looking."

Claire smacked him in the shoulder, which probably hurt her more than it did him. "I didn't know you were going to show up at my doorstep, Owen. I would have changed into actual clothes if you'd given me any warning."

Owen shrugged. "I'm not complaining; it was hot."

Claire smacked him again, which did nothing but make Owen snicker. She'd been doing yoga when he'd knocked at her door that morning a few months ago and she'd answered, forgetting she was clad only in a tank top and a pair of spandex shorts. Owen's eyes had gone all wide and he'd ran a few fingers through his hair, stuttering out a greeting with his eyes fixed on her legs. Claire didn't see what was so thrilling about her legs; they were pale and nowhere near as defined as his, but they'd apparently driven Owen wild.

Claire smiled at the memory, knowing she'd see that same intense, alert look on his face in a little while, once they reached the hotel. Or, more specifically, once he discovered what she was wearing under her white dress. It was _slightly_ more revealing than the spandex had been, and Claire couldn't help the small shudder that ran through her body when she pictured him pushing the straps of the nude lingerie off her shoulders and pressing his mouth to her, warm and wet.

They needed to get to that hotel, and they needed to get there fast.

"Are you nervous?" Claire blurted out, unable to stop herself from asking the question that had been haunting her for so long. She had to know what he was thinking, had to talk to him, let him reassure her.

Owen raised an eyebrow at her, taking one eye off the road. He didn't need to answer her question; Claire knew exactly what he was going to say before he said it. "Yeah." His voice was rough, raw, just the way she liked it. He didn't sound like that often, only when he cared particularly strongly for something. "But it's you, Claire." He gave a short laugh, flexing his hand on her leg. "We're good together, you and me. Took us a while to realize it, but here we are."

Claire let out the breath she was holding. He made a good point. Even before the Indominus Rex escape had cleared up the bad blood between them, Claire had been drawn to Owen. She hadn't really been able to explain it, especially after their strange first "date" (and the fact that she'd completely ignored him after), but she hadn't been able to get Owen Grady out of her mind. He was the opposite from her, loosening instead of tightening under stress and not caring a bit about organization and punctuality. Sure, his antics sometimes annoyed Claire out of her mind, but she loved him so much that those qualities faded into the background; they were unimportant.

"Are you?" Owen asked, bringing Claire out of her stupor. "Nervous, I mean?"

"Yes," she said, reaching over to brush a fleck of dirt out of his stubble.

Part of her wondered what those short hairs would feel like grazing against her inner thighs, his face buried in her, teasing her, touching her, loving her.

She shuddered again, and this time, it didn't go unnoticed by Owen. He grinned slyly at her, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"You still thinking about me?" he asked in a low tone, causing a collection of shivers to run down Claire's back; he knew exactly what she was thinking about, could pick up on it a mile away.

"Yeah," she murmured, thankful it was dark outside so he couldn't see the blush rising on her face. Claire wondered if he was having more luck controlling his thoughts, though, judging by how hard he was gripping her thigh, he was struggling as much as she was to keep his mind on the right track.

Owen made a soft noise in the back of his throat and Claire's suspicions were proved correct; he was just as aroused as she was.

"How much longer till we get there?" Claire asked, her voice as strained as she felt. It was strange, lust and love and nerves all mixed into one; she was like an emotional melting pot.

"Seven minutes," said Owen tightly, peering through the windshield into the darkness outside. "Seven very long minutes."

Claire almost laughed at the fact that he knew exactly how close they were to the hotel, but she was too busy dealing with the fact that her heart had suddenly sped up, like she'd just finished running a race.

Seven minutes until...

...

The lady at the check-in counter was half asleep when they arrived, Claire bouncing on the balls of her feet impatiently and Owen standing rather awkwardly, keeping his eyes determinedly away from the lace that showed through the back of Claire's dress.

"Last name?" the woman asked sleepily, blinking rapidly as she clicked at her computer.

"Grady," said Claire and Owen at the same time, both with the same note of urgency in their voices.

The woman looked at them over her glasses, smiling in a grandmotherly sort of way. "On vacation?"

"Of a sort," said Owen, flashing Claire a grin that set her body on fire, a warm flame that burned straight down from her head to her toes. His eyes flicked to her shoulders, where Claire discreetly pushed the lacy strap a bit further from under her dress than it already was. Owen bit the inside of his jaw, quickly turning back to the hotel clerk, who was holding out a couple of room keys.

"Room 309. Enjoy your stay."

"Oh, we will," said Owen, pinching Claire's shoulder lightly. He slid his fingers under the lingerie, his breath warm on her neck. "Elevator better be empty," he muttered to Claire, nuzzling against her hair as best he could while dragging a suitcase behind him.

She mumbled her agreement incoherently, unable to focus on anything but his skin against hers. The elevator, unfortunately, was 'not' empty. Claire could feel herself growing increasingly desperate, sure that the other passengers could tell that she and Owen were nearly out of their minds with need for each other.

Claire didn't want to say that they jumped out of the elevator when it reached the third floor, but that was the only thing she could call it. They walked stiffly down the hall to room 309, throwing their stuff unceremoniously down on the worn carpet before turning to each other, Claire feeling a bit unsure of what to do now that they were alone.

She slumped to the bed, laying flat on her back, staring at the dull taupe ceiling. "I'm afraid," she said quietly when Owen lay down beside her, un-tucking his shirt so it hung loosely about his hips. "I don't really know why, or what I'm scared of, but-"

"You're afraid," he finished, tracing a slow circle on the back of her hand. "Claire?"

"Yeah?" she answered, propping herself on an elbow to look at him. He pulled her closer, curving her body to his, allowing her to feel his heart thumping madly against his chest.

"Do you trust me?"

She nodded, looking straight into his eyes, green irises filled with everything that made Owen who he was.

"Do you love me?"

"You know I do," Claire said, cupping his jaw with her hand.

He closed his eyes at her touch, tilting his head into her hand, and Claire realized this was some of the vulnerability she so longed to see; Owen was showing her a part of himself she'd never seen before, a part of him that needed to be loved and kissed and held. "Then you've got nothing to be afraid of. Mutual respect, remember?"

Claire smiled. "No control."

"Just love," Owen said, sliding an arm underneath Claire, rolling her on top of him. "And if you don't get out of that dress soon, I might tear it off."

Claire felt a tightening in her stomach that momentarily rendered her unable to move but Owen understood, pushing the dress off to reveal the lace underneath. He made a low groan, deep in his throat, as he leaned over Claire. He pressed his chin to her stomach, meeting her eyes. Claire had never seen him look so alive before, so focused. She trailed her fingers through his hair, enjoying the way his body trembled slightly at her touch. Claire tugged at him, pulling him up until his lips met hers, until his hands were sliding under her back, pushing her upwards, undoing the fastenings of the lace that hid her flesh from him.

Claire worked at the buttons of his shirt, laughing when he gave up on the fastenings and tore away at the lace instead, the thin material falling to shreds under his fingers.

He worshipped her and she worshipped him, exploring each other, watching as the other fell apart. Owen was just as powerful as Claire had imagined him being, burying his head in the crook of her neck, muttering his love for her between grunts and groans as they drove each other to climax. He came undone shortly after she did, gripping her tightly, muffling a shout by kissing Claire even more breathless than she already was.

In the end, she knew there was nothing to be afraid of. She loved Owen, and he loved her. That was the only thing that mattered.

 _AN: In case any of you were wondering, I gave Claire and Owen room 309 because SPOILER! in Parks and Rec, Andy and April get married in season 3, episode 9 (and obviously all Chris Pratt characters are going to get shout-outs in these one-shots. I gave one to Peter Quill in Sanity with the tape player). I also seriously hope I didn't ruin that for anyone (sorry if I did!)_

Review! And if you have any requests, leave them in the reviews or PM me; whichever you prefer. To Disneybrony: I would love to do something like that! I'll give it a shot.


	4. Together

_AN: Disneybrony requested a wedding, so here you are! This takes place a couple of hours before Undone. And MakorraLove 97 has requested a one shot, so hers shall be up next. Any more requests or anything you want to see, feel free to leave them in the reviews!_

 _Summary: Claire and Owen decide it's time to be married._

…

They decided, one day after work, that it was time. It wasn't planned, wasn't organized, wasn't something that they had spent hours agonizing over. It was what they wanted, what they 'needed' to do. And Owen nearly couldn't breathe from a happy excitement that seemed to be squeezing his chest, his thoughts filled with Claire and him, together, married.

Because that was why they were at this store, that why he was sitting outside of a dressing room, ignoring the stares of curious women who were wondering what woman had dragged the poor man along to a women's dress shop.

Owen tapped his foot anxiously on the floor, peering around the corner to see if Claire had exited her fitting room. Her door remained firmly shut, as it had been for the past fifteen minutes.

She hadn't let him see the dresses she'd picked out. That was their deal: Owen chose the rings, Claire chose the wardrobe. Not surprisingly, Owen had finished his task much quicker than his soon-to-be wife had finished hers, but that didn't bother Owen in the slightest. Claire was Claire, and he loved her. Even if she did take forever to try on clothes.

But now the door was being thrown open and Claire was holding a couple dresses in her hands, both of which Owen looked resolutely away from, knowing he'd receive an (albeit painless) smack on the shoulder if he were to see the dresses before Claire wanted him to. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide, her foot tapping nervously on the ground.

"I found everything," she said, and Owen could hear the doubt, the fear in her voice underneath the smile she had plastered on her face. Claire was scared of commitment, scared that she would let Owen down in some way and he'd abandon her, leave her alone with only herself for company.

Owen wasn't going to do that. Owen loved her, wanted her to know that he was going to stick with her through it all; the good, the bad, and everything else in the world. Perhaps Owen needed Claire's confirmation as well, needed to know she wasn't going to give up on him.

"Me too," said Owen, holding up the small box that contained their rings.

"Good," Claire said, reaching out to grasp his hand. Owen could see Claire swallow her fear when she saw him, when she saw the look in his eye. "Because I'm not letting you back away from this." She smiled, cupped his face with her soft had, letting Owen feel how much she wanted this, how much she loved him, even through her anxiety. "I hope you found good rings."

Owen grinned, sliding his hand into his pocket where the small package sat, waiting to be opened. "I did, and you aren't going to see them until I say so."

"So bossy," Claire murmured, pinching him on the shoulder. "I'm rubbing off on you, Grady."

Owen felt a laugh slide out of him, felt the slight nervous tension between the two of them break with her joke. "I guess you are," he said, pressing his lips to hers for the smallest of seconds before tugging Claire to the checkout station, ready to get out of the store, ready to make her his wife.

"Eyes off," Claire reminded him as the lady bagged up whatever Claire had picked out. Owen had sneaked a glance, catching a glimpse of some pale lace that matched Claire's skin exactly. He felt a swoop in his stomach at the thought of Claire in that lace, the image of him peeling it off of her, surrounding her body with his own.

Owen was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely noticed Claire dragging him out to the parking lot until she was tapping his wrist, silently asking him to unlock her car. Owen did, watching Claire smooth the dark garment bag perfectly over the backseat so as to keep everything inside perfectly smooth, without a wrinkle. Owen felt his lips twitch upward in a smile; that was Claire, always making sure everything was nice and neat.

"Claire?" Owen asked, his voice rough, like waves crashing over rocks. "You're sure about this? About me?"

She moved to stand in front of him, her forehead just reaching his chin. Her arms slid around him, Owen's hands naturally falling on her back, anchoring himself to her, not wanting to let go. And Owen supposed that was why he wanted to marry Claire; he'd never have to let go of her if he did.

Claire didn't need to say anything to make her answer known; Owen understood what she meant before she could speak.

"No more questions?" Claire asked, resting her cheek against his chest. Owen knew she could feel his hear beating against her, strong and fast.

"No more questions," he agreed, "except for one. Do you think we should tell Lowery?"

"He already knows," said Claire with a faint giggle. "He asked me where we were going in such a hurry and I told him."

Owen imagined the look that Lowery must've given Claire when she told him: a wide-eyed, shocked stare with eyes that never seemed to blink. It was comical enough to make anyone laugh, which usually made Lowery frustrated, which made the situation even funnier.

"Then there's nothing left to do but-" Owen started, but Claire cut him off.

"Get married," she said, her voice a mixture between happiness and nerves. "I'm ready."

Owen kissed her, pulling at the ends of her hair like he loved to do, feeling her sigh into his mouth, hearing a small noise break in her throat.

"Love you," he said against her lips.

"Love you too," Claire said, clasping her hands behind his back. "Let's go."

...

Claire changed in the courthouse bathroom while Owen tried to think of anything but the lace 'something' she was hopefully going to be wearing underneath her dress. His mind strayed there anyways, and perhaps he was standing a little awkwardly when Claire exited the bathroom, wearing a soft white dress that looked amazing with her pale skin and red hair.

"Beautiful," said Owen quietly, trailing a finger along Claire's neck, tracing the outline of the dress. He felt her skin break out in gooseflesh at his touch, his eyes taking in every inch of her that he could see, lingering on the outline of her hips under the light fabric.

"Not so bad yourself," said Claire, referring to the dress shirt and khakis he'd changed into moments before.

Owen shrugged, shivering a bit when he managed to slip his fingers underneath the lace that Claire was indeed wearing as an undergarment.

"That's for later," she reprimanded him, her voice just a bit lower than it had been before.

Owen muttered something that even he didn't understand, thankful that the tiny courthouse on the mainland was understaffed, and that they were alone in the lobby. "I'm sorry this isn't going to be fancy," he said, thankful that his voice had decided it was going to work.

"It doesn't need to be," said Claire, brushing a bit of dirt off of Owen's shirt. "Just you and me."

"Just you and me," Owen repeated, twining his hand with Claire's.

...

They were married within thirty minutes of arriving at the courthouse, by the on-duty preacher named John. Owen tried to savor the moment as much as possible, but all he could really focus on we're Claire's eyes boring into his and hearing her say, "I do," with a small, content smile on her face. Owen was pretty sure he kept up a silent prayer the entire "ceremony", letting his thanks for Claire be known to God.

"Did you want to do rings?" John asked. Owen barely heard him, so absorbed was he in that smile of Claire's.

"Uh, yeah," he said, stumbling over the words as he dug around in his pocket for that little rectangular package. "Here." Owen popped the lid open and dropped the box into John's open palm.

"Owen," Claire murmured, a faint flush spreading across her cheeks. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him, even though they weren't technically supposed to yet.

"You like them?" he asked, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Claire nodded, smiling that same smile that made Owen's insides turn to mush. The rings were simple; Owen's was a shiny silver band, slightly wider and flatter than the one meant to go to Claire. Hers was smaller, thinner, with pale green gemstones (that Owen thought matched Claire's eyes) lining the band.

John had them place the rings on the other's hand before pronouncing them man and wife. "You may ki-" began John, but Owen beat John to it, sliding his arm around Claire's waist and pulling her to him, kissing her in a way that was perhaps not appropriate for the public eye, but Owen didn't really care.

They were married. They were _together_.

 _AN: Review and I'll love you forever! I'll try to update this and Outlast as regularly as possible, but school's started and everything is crazy (I wrote the last part of this on my phone coming bag from my aunt's house because that was the only time I could!)._

Love all of you! Don't forget to leave any requests in the reviews!


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